Table Of Consent
He sups in the same plate with the devil,
Long spoon clasped in the palm of his hand.
Conscious of the presence of the impending evil,
That ravaged short-spoon off its garland.
Sumptuosness corrode the bones of his reflexes,
And his rusty back glued to the dinning seat.
The host, through with his guest's excesses,
Pondered on the symmetric dissection of his meat.